Nestled within a majestic mountain range at the southwestern border of the Valoria Empire lay a small, peaceful village named Rivemont. Surrounded by verdant hills and crystal-clear rivers, life followed a simple rhythm.

It was six in the morning when Karl, a robust old man with a weathered face, rose as he did every day. With his broad frame and sparse gray hair, he had the appearance of someone who had lived through decades of hard work. Despite his age, his movements still held the strength of a former soldier. For more than ten years, he had lived in Rivemont with his grandson, Ale.

Karl knocked gently on Ale's bedroom door. "Ale, time to get up! The sun's already up, and we should be too."

A muffled groan came from behind the door. Ale, sixteen years old, had the physique of a young man in the midst of growth. His features were still slightly boyish, but life in the countryside had given him strong shoulders and a certain agility. With his messy black hair and piercing eyes, Ale looked like an ordinary boy, though he carried an unsuspected strength for his age. His tanned skin bore witness to the long days spent working under the sun, in the terraced fields that Karl cultivated.

"But Grandpa, it's still too early... Why do we have to wake up so early every day?" Ale complained, barely emerging from his bed.

Karl smiled. "The early bird gets the worm, my boy. Now come on, we've got work to do."

It was the first day of spring. The winter frost had receded, and the warmth of the sun was beginning to awaken the earth. It was time to prepare the crops, and Karl counted on Ale's help. Ever since he was a child, Ale had assisted his grandfather in the fields and terraced rice paddies that stretched along the mountainside behind their home.

As they walked along the mountain path, Ale enjoyed admiring the panoramic view of the village. He liked spotting the houses of his friends in the distance.

"Grandpa, can you continue the story about the Light Prince ?" Ale asked, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

Since he was a child, Karl had told him these legendary stories — epic tales of the Light Prince and his army of the Five Geniuses. According to the stories, the prince and his loyal followers fought the darkness, repelled monsters, and chased the followers of the Spirit of Darkness across the continent. These captivating tales filled Ale’s nights with dreams of adventure, though he had started to believe they were just stories for children, made to entertain him. Still, he couldn't help but be fascinated. The Light Prince’s adventures transported him to distant, extraordinary worlds:

A hidden village of the Sylvanyans, the elves from the depths of the Blue Forest, the flying city of the Alarins, unreachable for mortals, the shifting city that constantly changed its location, and the empire of the Abyssians, a marine people who lived in the depths of the oceans, protected by sea creatures as large as mountains. These stories fueled his imagination and allowed him to escape the monotony of life in a village where nothing ever seemed to happen.

"The Light Prince again?" Karl chuckled. "Of course, but make me some tea first. It's a bit chilly this morning."

Ale grabbed a few wild tea leaves growing on the mountain slopes and headed over to his grandfather.

"Flamma manus," Ale whispered, closing his eyes. A thin layer of flames appeared around his hand, which he used to heat the tea leaves. He liked impressing his grandfather with his magic skills, even though he knew Karl was well familiar with them. After all, Karl had been the one to teach him the basics of Fire Magic.

“Hand me your water, Grandpa,” Ale said with a grin. Karl handed him his leather flask, and with a quick motion, Ale made a stream of water rise into the air before heating it with a small ball of fire. The water fell back into the flask as hot tea—a skill Karl had carefully taught his grandson.

“Still as impressive as ever,” Karl said, taking a satisfied sip of the tea. “Now, where was I in the story of the Light Prince?”

Ale answered immediately. "He was on his way to the Kingdom of the Dwarves to repair his weapons before fighting the followers of Darkness."

Karl nodded with a mischievous smile. “Ah yes… the Kingdom of the Dwarves, that land forged into the mountains. The prince and his allies needed the best blacksmiths on the continent. But before the dwarven king would help them, he demanded a service in return: to hunt down the terrifying dragon Raknok, who had taken over the largest gold mine in the kingdom. The dwarves had stored tons and tons of gold coins and rare gems there.”

“A dragon, really?” Ale asked, skeptical but intrigued. “Why would a dragon want treasure? It doesn't need gold, does it?”

Karl burst out laughing. “That’s where you're wrong, Ale. Raknok wasn’t just any dragon — he was a fire dragon. And a fire dragon has a magical core that produces intense heat. His body burns so hot that even he has to regulate the temperature. You see, gold is an excellent conductor of heat. For a dragon like Raknok, lying on piles of gold coins is like bathing in a lake of coolness. That’s how he manages to release excess heat and regenerate.”

Stolen story; please report.

Ale's eyes widened, part of him wanting to believe this fascinating explanation. “How do you know all that, Grandpa? You didn’t just make that up, did you?”

Karl smiled slyly. “No, that knowledge is real. All the dwarves know that.”

Ale asked excitedly, “Have you ever met a dwarf, Grandpa?”

Karl nodded. “Yes, and I can tell you they’re unparalleled craftsmen. They’re not only master blacksmiths, but their clocks are also marvels of precision. Each one is a work of art.”

Ale, his eyes shining with wonder, concluded dreamily, “I’d love to meet one someday.”

The two continued along the winding mountain path. Through these simple, quiet moments, Karl hoped his grandson would grow up in peace, far from the troubles of the outside world, though he knew such peace was always fleeting.

In Rivemont, as in all of the Empire of Valoria, fire wasn’t just a natural element. It was the embodiment of life itself, the vital force shaped by the divine Spirits who governed the world. Among them, the Spirit of Fire held a central place in the Empire, revered as the most powerful and benevolent deity. It granted the people the warmth they needed to survive, the energy to work, and the magic to perform everyday miracles. The Valorians knew that without fire, their world would plunge into darkness and cold.

In ancient times, the world was harmonized by the presence of seven major Spirits: the Spirit of Fire, the Spirit of Water, the Spirit of Earth, the Spirit of Air, the Spirit of Light, the Spirit of Nature, and lastly, the Spirit of Darkness. Each of these Spirits represented an essential aspect of the world, ensuring balance and the well-being of all living creatures.

The Spirit of Fire, who ruled over the lands of Valoria, provided energy, warmth, and the power to forge, while the Spirit of Water brought life and purity to the oceans, rivers, and lakes. The Spirit of Earth ensured the stability of the mountains and the fertility of the soil, while the Spirit of Air instilled freedom and mobility into each being. Light and Nature, in turn, represented daylight and the diversity of life, each playing a vital role in the flourishing of living things.

The Spirit of Darkness, once revered by some, was now considered a malevolent god, a harbinger of chaos and imbalance. Its followers, convinced that darkness should rule the world, sought to plunge the entire land into an endless night. Holy wars were waged with merciless fervor by various nations to eradicate its influence. The land of Darkness was purified by sacred fire, and the followers of the Spirit of Darkness were hunted, massacred, or forced into exile.

Though these followers were no longer heard of, rumors persisted that, in the shadows, hidden from sight, they awaited their moment. Lurking in the darkness, they would bide their time, waiting for the chance to once again plunge the world into despair and destruction.

Today, in the Valoria Empire, only the Spirit of Fire was openly worshiped. While the other Spirits still held some significance, only Fire had a direct influence on daily life in Valoria. Its magic blessed those lucky enough to access it. However, most people could only use magic indirectly, through tools enchanted by mages or techniques passed down through generations.

The village of Rivemont, though small and isolated, was famous for its forge. Run by a sturdy blacksmith, it was one of the few places where the magic of Fire was used daily to create tools and weapons. The blacksmith, with his mana reserve, could directly manipulate heat with simple spells to make his work more precise and efficient. The swords forged in Rivemont were particularly prized for their sturdiness and flawless finish, heated by magic and strengthened by the blessing of the Spirit of Fire.

Beyond the forge, fire magic manifested in other aspects of daily life. In Rivemont’s fields, magically heated canals irrigated the crops, protecting them from frost even during the harshest winters. This ingenious system, developed by the Empire’s mages, guaranteed bountiful harvests, making Rivemont a prosperous village despite the climate's challenges.

Even the windmills, used to grind grain, had been enchanted. Mechanisms that channeled heat allowed the grain to dry faster, speeding up flour production.

Yet, despite these magical and technological marvels, the villagers of Rivemont knew that magic, though beneficial, could be dangerous. The powers granted by the Spirit of Fire were not to be taken lightly. Imperial patrols, which regularly visited even remote villages like Rivemont, ensured that no one attempted to misuse magic for personal gain. The illegal use of magic was one of the most severely punished crimes in the Empire, especially since the fall of the followers of the Spirit of Darkness.

This strict control served as a reminder that magic, though essential to everyday life, could become a terrifying weapon in the wrong hands. The shadow of the Spirit of Darkness continued to haunt memories, a constant warning of the dreadful consequences of misused magic. While the use of enchanted objects was allowed and widespread, even for mortals, everyone knew they had to handle them with caution and respect.